


You Bring it Out

by Starkangejr



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Idiots in Love, M/M, Older Bruce Wayne, World's Finest, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkangejr/pseuds/Starkangejr
Summary: Batman has one rule: Absolutely no outside help when it comes to Gotham's problems. Now if only Superman knew how to follow the rules instead of bend them.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98
Collections: Detective Holiday Exchange





	You Bring it Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harveyblanchet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harveyblanchet/gifts).



> Please accept this humble gift, I hope you enjoy it
> 
> Because I am a diligent stalker, I made their ages how Harvey prefers them to be. Clark early 20s and Bruce late, late 30s

The world was becoming an increasingly dangerous place.

He would feign surprise if it wasn’t a fact that Batman had always been prepared for; the idea that even the heroes of the world could be in over their heads. His resources were stretched thin and he felt remiss to admit that he was beginning to experience the strain. Some time during last night’s patrol an unease had settled over him as he dismantled the plans of yet another criminal plot, squashing Penguin’s intentions to rule over Gotham. It took longer than he would have liked, but that was the price to pay for running on little sleep with persistent patrols. He could at least trust the GCPD to handle the smaller targets while he divided other sections of Gotham between Nightwing and Robin.

They were all working tirelessly on this active investigation; someone had unleashed the occupants of Arkham last week—a breakout he hadn’t been made aware of until last minute. Of course, of all the criminals that managed to escape, only a few of them were smart enough to bid their time and avoid capture. Some were more impatient than others, causing havoc simply because they could. If he hadn’t been prepared to handle the vast majority of meta-humans holed up in Arkham already, he would have had a headache by now.

His own rogues gallery he could handle, their weaknesses and his carefully planned methods of taking them down were well practiced and nearly second nature to the Bat. The only thing that could have possibly ruined his obsessively plotted out strategies was certain unnecessary help from outsiders. Robin had, on more than one occasion, requested they simply ask for further backup. It might have been harsh to counter his young partner with the threat of benching him, however, it kept both sidekicks focused on the tasks given to them. That’s all he cared about.

He stands on one high roof of Gotham’s many skyscrapers, his cape billowing in the gusty winds while his eyes survey the alleys and streets below. Out of his peripheral, Batman notices a familiar blur in the sky, blue eyes tracking the movement as it approaches him. Bruce sets his expression into a deep frown out of habit alone. Superman doesn’t need to come check up on him; Batman can't spare a moment for a nap, let alone allow the other hero to distract him.

“What is it?” He asks into the open air, tone full of half-veiled irritation. Batman doesn’t bother to raise his voice higher than a whisper, he knows that Superman can hear him from even further away and it is a point he likes to tease Clark about when they are alone. Clark is always listening in despite repeated requests for him to focus on his own stuff.

Superman slows his approach, hesitating for only a moment before he regains his composure and smiles at Batman with that sweet summer-child disposition. Superman is practically radiating glee and it forces Batman to convince himself that the inhale he takes in response is purely from the chill of the night running through his skin; reminding him that it is, in fact, nighttime and the sun had set _hours_ ago.

“What, I’m not allowed to come check on you from time to time?” Superman's question is innocent enough but his eyes are deliberate. He watches as Superman gives a slow once over of his body, either checking for wounds or something else. Batman can practically feel Clark's gaze, it's everywhere, unrestrained and oh-so-open. Bruce has to school his breathing into coming out measured, focusing on keeping it steady along with his heartbeat. Clark deliberately flirts from time to time and it's become more frequent as of late. Bruce has to remind himself that he’s on patrol; he can't deal with this right now.

“Not if you’re dressed like that. I’m busy.” Bruce winces internally, jaw clenched for only a second. He knows he’s snapping at Clark purely from lack of sleep and there’s also a partial knee-jerk reaction in trying to dissuade the younger hero from making further advances.

Of all the scenarios he planned for tonight, this is definitely not on his list. On an easier night the Bat might have allowed him to slack off a bit longer but there were still rogues to capture and a perpetrator to punish.

Batman redirects the conversation before Superman can pout his way out of being forced to leave.

“Is it the League?” He’s hedging around the obvious, looking for reasons, _professional_ motivation, or _any_ excuse to give for the impromptu meeting.

Superman sighs as he relents to the older hero’s silent commands. Batman catches the way Clark rolls his eyes and the earlier concern for the man's wounded feelings drop when it seems like Clark takes no offense to being shot down. Superman simply sets down near Batman, folds his arms across his chest and puts on his ‘serious’ face. That means he’s upset but Batman is sure Clark will get over it quickly, he always does and it’s better this way in the long run. Batman can’t afford any further distractions and the faster he gets a handle on this situation with Superman right now, the easier he can concoct a plan of action. Sweeping another look over his city for a moment, Batman waits for Clark to spit it out.

“Have you noticed anything..unusual, in the last couple of days?” Superman settles on that, already switching gears just as his partner wants. Batman appreciates the effort.

“Describe unusual.” Comes his quick reply, fully aware of how painfully obtuse he’s being for the sake of sweating Superman out. The Dark Knight knows for a fact that Clark doesn’t stand a chance against the serious deadpan of Batman’s cowled stare, dramatics which only further drive home just how focused he wants to be tonight. No distractions; even if they are puppy-eyed.

“Buildings where they shouldn’t be, animals talking, statues that can walk and fireworks that spread glitter...you know, altered space?” Superman is terrible at toeing around what he actually wants to say and Bruce decides that his need for information supersedes his desire to watch Clark eat up time by purposefully failing his explanation.

“Not particularly. Is that why you’re here? You need help with a potential meta-human threat?” He arches a brow under the cowl, turning to give Superman his full attention. The move seems to please the younger hero and he resists his own urge to sigh. Maybe he can spare a _few_ minutes.

“Something like that! Recently a man with these powers showed up and explained that his game would be held, well, here. I thought he was joking at first, he has a habit of stretching the truth (among other things), but I got anxious waiting for the other shoe to drop, so I decided to come. And yes, I’m fully aware of your feelings about receiving help, however I figured since he’s one of _mine_ , you would make an exception. We could find him together!” Superman’s voice is hopeful and he has this pleading look on his face that speaks volumes. It drives home his point that Clark is really trying not to get kicked out so soon after he’s arrived.

Batman’s mind helpfully drifts back to pontificate on the breakout. The level of mayhem that had been let loose on so many of Gotham's occupants and all without a trace of evidence or forewarning. Had there been a supernatural element to the escape like something Superman had described? There is too much the Bat doesn’t know for certain and that is the _only_ reason he hesitates. His rule on not allowing meta’s in Gotham is one of mere principle, exceptions aside, he has no need for Superman’s strength, just his knowledge.

“That won’t be necessary. If you give me your notes on him then I’ll find where he’s hiding and take him down before he can do any further damage. Nothing of what you described has happened yet but it’s peculiar enough that I’ll know exactly who is responsible when it does. Meet me at the cave in twenty minutes, we can discuss further matters there.” Batman explains with a quick order, still wanting to do another sweep of the city before he has to head back to the Cave and debrief. Clark moves in front of him instead, floating there expectantly.

“It’s faster if I fly us there.” There’s a gleam of joy in his eyes, clearly, Superman thinks he’s smooth as silk. Any other time, his offer may have worked, however this time Batman is quick to dismiss him.

“I don’t need you to carry me.”

“Don’t be like that, I already checked, it’s quiet out there. You don’t have to do another patrol and it’ll make me leave faster if we just go now.” Clark reasons, adding an extra dose of pleading puppy eyes to the mix. Batman has to resist the urge to roll his own. Paranoia be damned, he knows Superman would never steer him off course when it comes to fighting crime but the voice in the back of his head still finds the whole argument flimsy at best. Reason steps in and explains that Superman knows how important the safety of Gotham is to Bruce, just as Metropolis is to Clark. After a minute of arguing with himself internally, eyes glancing at his gauntlet in hopes of proving Superman wrong at the last minute, he releases a long sigh. His fingers tap away at the mini module across his forearm and he sends the Batmobile home via auto pilot. Rolling his shoulders, he prepares himself for the inevitable chill that’ll creep deeper into his bones once they get in the air, then looks at Superman.

“Alright. Let’s just go before I change my mind.” He growls, the heat in his voice completely gone. He already knows he’s lost this one, he may as well roll with the punches. Clark smiles and it melts all the remaining resistance Batman has left. He yields his duties for the night—the boys can handle the last of their patrols alone before they head back—and Batman convinces himself their presence is the only reason he’s allowing this right now.

Superman moves behind him, hoisting the Dark Knight from his perch by sliding warm hands across the upper torso of his Kevlar suit. He lifts right under Batman’s arms, tugging their bodies together and holding them close. They’ve flown a million times like this and every single instance Bruce has to school his thoughts. Thankfully Clark is quiet the entire flight, bringing them both through the large Cave entrance and setting down once they reach the Batcomputer. Bruce has to keep himself from tugging the hands back around his body; he’s exhausted and cold, wanting nothing but the comfort of his warm bed and an even warmer body. However, instead of following his desires, Batman heads straight for his chair; fingers already flying across the keys to start a new file for Clark’s adversary.

“Alright. What do you know? Name, origin, powers...anything I can use?”

“Right to business.” Clark chuckles, following after him and leaning against the side of the computer that Bruce doesn’t need for typing. “His name is Mister Mxyzptlk. He introduced himself as an Imp from the fifth dimension and he likes to play games that can sometimes turn into a bad time for others; he has a skewed moral compass.”

Bruce taps away, noting it all down but taking a second to pause as his brow furrows at the name, fully intending to skip the spelling for now before glancing at Clark. The request is wordless and Clark takes the hint as he leans over to type it for Bruce, allowing him to continue his focus on gathering information instead. “You’ve dealt with him before then? How did you apprehend him last time?”

“You have to get him to say his name backwards.” Clark explains simply, typing that down for his partner as well.

Bruce feels the echo of a headache brewing at the answer, or maybe it’s just that his annoyance has reached its peak. “You’re joking.”

“Honest to God, I’m not. But on the bright side, it isn't that hard to do—or not as much as you’re thinking. That doesn’t mean what he does is harmless. Everything I explained earlier on the roof? He can do all of it and more. Mxyzptlk has a power that bends the rules of this world to his will; it’s some form of magic.” Clark waves his hand dismissively, leaning away from the keyboard as he makes room for Bruce. The tone doesn't distract Batman from the truth.

“A weakness of yours.” Bruce snorts, the keys on the computer clacking away and filling the echoing silence of the cave.

“You don't have to rub it in.” Clark laughs, getting comfortable before he gives a small shrug at the hard stare followed by a nod. “Yes. I don’t have the best of luck against magic users.”

“But you’ve managed to send him back on your own in the past so I’m almost certain it won’t need further involvement from an expert.” He’s grateful for that at least.

“Which expert? You don’t like working with Constatine, soo...Zatanna?” Superman tends to talk out loud a lot of the time when he’s musing for a resource. His tone is innocent enough and it is merely offering suggestions but in reality Bruce takes it as a hint to further elaborate in those directions, if he should so choose.

“I would prefer to leave her out of this if at all possible. One rogue with magical abilities that can be thwarted by clever thinking, doesn’t need the whole magic community to come have a look. I prefer to work alone.” he reiterates, scowl deepening when Clark hums at him.

“Mmhm.”

Bruce glares at that, wishing to high hell he wasn't so tired so the scathing look isn’t wasted and lost on the other hero. Superman knows exactly what Batman means and Bruce has no further desires to clarify; instead he sets his jaw tight and moves on. “Alright, tell me what he looks like and I’ll start a program to look through some video surveillance of the past week for any hits matching his description.”

Clark leans in then, taking his time to explain the characteristics that make up Mxyzptlk, and taking over the typing for Bruce when he notices his partner’s fingers slowing down. It’s easier for him to do it anyway. If Clark gets a little closer than he should, Bruce doesn’t say anything about it. This close he can practically feel the warmth ebbing off the Kyrptonian—it’s like a beacon to his tired brain that pops off with its own insane suggestions. If he leans in just right he can rest his forehead against the strong bicep and get about two minutes of rest. Clark whispers something that he barely catches and Bruce shifts, trying to lean back against the chair before there’s a gentle hand cradling the back of his cowl. Something about the intimacy of the hand keeps him quiet and Bruce allows Superman to act as his pillow. He only needs a small window to sleep and then he’ll be back to normal. Bruce forgets to set a timer.

They spend twenty minutes pressed close in the silence of the Cave. When he opens his eyes again, he notices the blue hue of the computer screen as it illuminates Clark’s features in the otherwise dark room. He can't help but stare, bewildered at first before his expression melts into reverence. Biting the inside of his cheek to force some semblance of control back into his thoughts, Bruce realizes he doesn’t want to disturb the peace between them. Clark has been good and there is nothing wrong with falling asleep around someone that makes him feel _safe_.

Peaking over the arm he used as his temporary pillow, Bruce watches the images on the screen flicker past, the program sorting through everything and causing the light to come in spurts as Clark looks for hints and the program organizes the search for any hits on the rogue. Micro Nap aside, Bruce has to remind himself they’re _working_ when he gets distracted again, recognizing that he somehow drifted into staring at Clark instead of the screen. He’s tortured himself for far less, and yet, somehow this is the worst one yet.

“Bruce?” Clark asks, trying to pull his partner from his thoughts. Bruce makes a grunt of acknowledgement before Clark speaks up again. “I think your computer found something.”

He nods, frowning with reluctance as he turns his gaze towards the monitors, wondering just how long he’d been dazed and if Clark had noticed how much he’d been stared at once Bruce woke up.

Reaching to touch the keyboard, Superman moves his arm and Batman pulls up the flashing video as the program pings its found content. He presses play, eyes glued to the monitor as the video shows Mxyzptlk literally popping into view. The imp has a hand covering his mouth while he holds an empty canister of some kind in the crook of his other arm, looking around guiltily before disappearing into thin air and vanishing from the feed in seconds. After that, the video shows no further movement.

Bruce replays the recording a couple of times, looking at the negative space and trying to discern where this camera is, peering at the subtle objects that seem like stacked containers in order to figure out which laboratory Mxyzptlk has stolen from. The moment Bruce has the location, the easier it’ll be to know what had been inside the canister and why this particular criminal wanted it.

“Looks like he’s taking something from a distribution center. There’s a hint of a truck in the corner here,” Bruce points, enhancing the video to show Clark as he reviews it all, taking every detail in, his mind feeling sharper already. “The logo looks like—”

“STAR Labs.” Clark announces, seeing a lot better than Bruce can, even when the image is so pixelated and unable to zoom-in any further.

“Hrm..This complicates things. There could have been anything in that canister.” Bruce leans back into his chair, hand perching under his chin as he considers the various scenarios in his head. “Likely something dangerous. The question is: why haven't we seen its effects? What is he looking around for and what did he unleash?”

Clark shrugs, sighing while taking a serious second to evaluate the situation. He absorbs everything they’ve found a lot faster and turns to Bruce with a different pleading expression. “I don’t know but I also don’t like it. You should let me help you with this, Bruce.”

“I already said no.”

“But if something happens to you, I—”

“Enough! Nothing is going to happen.” Bruce stands abruptly, putting distance between them as he calms his anger. If there’s one thing Batman hates, it’s being perceived as helpless. Clark _knows_ this and yet, sometimes, he can’t help shoving his foot in his own damn mouth. Bruce decides he needs to sleep for longer and that Clark has overstayed his welcome. It’s all more than he can handle. “We’re done here. I have everything that I need. Go back to Metropolis and I’ll inform you of when I’ve sent Mxyzptlk back to his own dimension.”

“Bruce..” Clark reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Bruce pulls out of the grip. He needs space, silently thankful that the other hero doesn’t chase after him as he starts removing his uniform and prepares to leave. Clark, however, doesn’t give up either. “Alright. I’ll come by Thursday, I won’t interfere but I’m here to help if you need it. You just have to say the word.”

Bruce closes his eyes, hearing the familiar departing whoosh and, when he turns to check, Superman is gone.

His shoulders immediately sag with a combination of exhaustion and disappointment, the ache in his bones screaming for some relief in the shape of an actual bed. He’s still irritated though and it leaves little room for anything else as he disrobes completely, setting the suit aside instead of tossing it to the ground in frustration. He’s not a child but he does know when his body is at its limit. Working his way up the stairs, he hates himself for acting like this in front of Clark, for pushing him away. It’s ridiculous how much the Kryptonian unbalances him, but Bruce knows exactly why he can’t focus on anything when Clark is around. A part of him wishes the younger hero would latch onto someone else, someone his own age and a person that’ll have more emotional awareness. Unfortunately, what Bruce wants and what truly happens are generally not in sync.

* * *

After a few pointless follow-up calls and constant requests to lend a helping hand from Clark (which Bruce adamantly refuses every time), Batman finally finds Mr. Mxyzptlk and the resulting encounter is almost comical.

He had brought Robin with him and when Tim starts an intentional argument on how to pronounce the rogue’s name, as if on cue, Mxyzptlk appeared in a huff. Clark is right about one thing at least, goading the villain is a lot easier than it looks.

“That’s not how you say it! If you’re going to butcher someone’s name, at least have the decency to ask him how to say it first!” The imp demands, floating in the air with a very sour frown. His outfit is exactly as Clark described, matching the video surveillance too and the display of magic is clear as day. If they aren’t careful, things can turn awry fairly quickly.

“Well then, tell us: how would _you_ pronounce it?” Robin mocks him, intent on sticking with the plan. It’s not normally his personality, but Tim is good at playing his roles out, especially now.

“It’s Mister Mxyzptlk!” The Imp announces, hands flailing in the air.

Robin makes an unimpressed expression, mulling over the pronunciation in his head as if he still isn’t sure about it. “Hrmm, seems really hard to say, what if I just call you Mixy? What brought you to Gotham, huh Mix man?”

“No! It’s Mister _Mxyzptlk_ , not Mxy! And I’m not telling you! It’s a secret.” Mxyyzptlk’s face goes fire red, he looks ready to explode but the question seems to simmer down his temper and he gives off a haughty tone in response. It appears that getting information will be harder with this Imp’s attitude.

Robin is quick on his feet however, immediately changing the subject. “Is Mxyzptlk your last name?”

The Imp doesn’t seem ready for that question, thrown off by their whole conversation.

“It’s simply my name. And whatever you’re planning, you’re not getting anything from me!”

“So you don't have a first name?” Robin asks, unperturbed by the declaration. Batman notices the way Robin glances his way and the Dark Knight makes no moves to stop Robin in his tracks. He already knows where this is going, but wonders if it’ll work or fall flat. Robin continues, “You know something like Klipzeehem Mixyplick?”

“No and that’s not how you say it, it’s Kltpzyxm!” Mxyzptlk growls, having pronounced it correctly and only realizing what he’s done a second too late. “Oooh you think you’re so clever! When I get back you won’t trip me up like that next time!!”

Bruce watches as the Imp disappears, his voice echoing into the empty space his body leaves behind. It’s difficult for him to praise Robin because sometimes Tim is too impatient and makes assumptions about their target. He’s smart, but he doesn’t know _everything_ just yet.

“You did it too quickly.” Batman notes and he watches the way Robin holds back his outburst. He instead uses his anger and hides it under annoyance.

“Really, that’s what you’re upset about?” Tim stares at Bruce, watching the way he stands there, silently judging him. Tim is quick to parry off his reasons without hesitation or doubt. “We already know what he did. A deeper dive into the surveillance of Arkham’s cameras showed him in the gate room freeing everyone in Arkham as a ploy for some chaos fueled mayhem. We even have eyewitness accounts from the guards when they saw an impish looking man appear and disappear like a cartoon character. What’s the point of hearing the reason behind it? He’s a chaotic magic user that wanted to play a game, looking to be outsmarted, and we’ve done that.”

Tim is only partially correct but Bruce reasons that it’s likely better this way. It will make investigating the container from STAR Labs more difficult but neither incident seems connected outside of purposely causing mayhem. Batman _is_ grateful that the variable he can’t control has now effectively been taken out of the picture. He also doesn’t want to argue with Robin over methods—it’s too early in the night for that.

“I want you and Nightwing to head to the warehouse district, canvas the area and search for any other clues that may have been missed by the security camera. You’re right, he probably was never going to give us any information either way. You’re both to search for the remaining escapees and then head straight home.” He finishes, turning away from Robin to make it clear they were finished here.

“Where are you headed?” Tim hedges gently around his desire to come with Bruce and instead finds a steady middle ground, coming off as conveniently curious. Batman, however, has already given his orders.

“Dividing the load; I’ll go detain Clayface, Killer Croc and Ivy. At which point we should have everyone that escaped, back in Arkham. There’s been a few sightings of the first two and a few reports of mysterious fainting spells, which I suspect is Ivy’s doing. You two can handle the others, but reach me over comms if something comes up.” Bruce orders, before he grapples away.

He’s perched high above the city again, looking over the streets once more while devising a plan of action in the sweet silence. He isn’t left with his thoughts for long, however, when his communicator rings and he answers it. “Alfred. What do you have for me?”

“Good evening, Sir. STAR Labs has finally responded to your inquiries regarding the video you sent them of the theft from their Warehouse. They have stated there was an unstable chemical in the canister and deemed it highly dangerous. According to their files, it latches onto the nearest host and consumes them, creating a monster that will continue to grow as it syphons off new victims. The Lab has delivered a device to help you contain it. Perhaps it would be best for you to return to the Cave. I have already taken the liberty to ask Lucius to send it over after he has analyzed it. They’ve requested that whatever was exposed to the contamination must be isolated and brought back for study.”

“Send me the details on everything they have. For study...Can the contamination be reversed, Alfred?” Bruce wonders just how long the Lab was sitting on this information before he’d brought the theft to light. Had they known the whole time, recording the data without notifying the police?

“As of this moment, Sir, I’m afraid not. Lucius’ notes say that the device they sent will contain who or whatever was infected but you’ll have to get the damned device on them first. It resembles a collar one would use for a wild animal, I’m simply glad it is not me that has to do it.”

“Hm...Thanks Alfred. I’ll be over soon, write something up to respond to STAR Labs and see if they’re going to take responsibility for this "creature" if Wayne Enterprises’ manages to cage it for them. If it’s as bad as they say, I’m not going to hand it over to them until I know for certain it’ll be under tight control.”

“Doubtful, but I will get started on it right away, Sir.” Alfred pauses, the sound of something rustling across the communicator before he speaks again. “Sir...This chemical is likely tied to those cases of people suddenly falling ill and fainting in the middle of the day. All reports state they were perfectly healthy individuals who were active one minute and suddenly their organs began to fail the next. I don’t have to remind you to be careful with this one.”

“I know Alfred. See you in a bit.” Batman’s grapple soars into the air and latches onto a different building before he flings himself off the roof. His communicator goes off again, leaving little time for silence.

“Now don’t be upset—” Superman starts, his voice lifts somewhat as he tries to dissuade his partner from hanging up too soon, “but I did some snooping of my own on STAR labs.”

“I said I don’t need your help.”

“I know! And I really wish you’d just let me assist you on these things so, this is me, using a loophole around your little rule.” The way Clark chuckles sends an odd sensation through his chest. Bruce tries to ignore it, focusing on grappling to the next building as he heads towards Clayface’s last known location. “You let me help you with intel earlier with Mr. Mxyzptlk, this is practically the same thing.”

Batman grunts, nonverbally saying that he’s allowed to continue and if Clark could radiate joy through the communicator, he would. He doesn’t even have to rush Clark to hurry up with his explanation.

“I haven’t exactly dealt with this strange substance before, but the data the Lab kept on it describes a purple radioactive semi-sentient material that forms a near parasitic relationship with its host. It feeds off energy which can mean a lot of different things, though it looks like they were testing it to find the source of its origin.” Clark explains, likely feeling proud of himself.

“Alfred said as much.”

“Oh so you already knew? Why did you let me finish my explanation then?” Clark asks, tone searching as he lets the silence fall between.

Bruce doesn’t say it’s because he likes to hear the sound of Clark’s voice. “Wondered if a different source and investigation would turn up new data.”

Clark pauses and Bruce ponders if he’ll be challenged on his reasoning. Instead, his partner simply continues with his reading. “Well, this says you can't touch it.”

“That’s going to be a problem considering I need to detain it.”

“No seriously, you can't let it touch you. You'll have to find another way to subdue it.” Clark is silent and Bruce can hear the wheels turning in the other hero’s head already. “Are you sure you don't want my help on this? I don't even have to wear my costume...I can wear all black like you and no one will know the difference.”

“ _I_ will.” After spending so much time together, working alongside one another, he can pick Clark out of a crowd.

Clark laughs and Bruce imagines he’s shaking his head. “Of course you would, but—”

He hates to cut this short but as soon as Batman is on the scene, all the joy he felt from their conversation sinks into the pit of his stomach. “I have to go.” He levels firmly, frowning as he lands in the alley and slowly approaches a lump on the ground.

“Wait, right now?”

“Yes. Something came up.” He turns the lump over to see that it’s a person. Their bones feel brittle under his gloves and the skin is so wrinkled that it’s almost as if they were shrink wrapped. “There’s a body at Clayface’s hideout.”

“Bruce wait—”

He can’t. Batman hangs up on Clark, needing to focus as he checks for a pulse on the body in front of him before he catches something out of the corner of his eye falling from above. He looks up, noticing too late when a body hits the ground fast enough that he can’t even assess the situation—which building did it fall from, how far up, who sent it down?

He’s never seen bodies like this before and as he goes to inspect the new one, it’s the same as the first. Their skin is shriveled and cold, possibly drained, just like the reports said. It’s unfortunate that he is too late and the guilt hits him hard; they didn’t have to die like this.

Forcing himself to keep moving forward, he looks around, eyes straining in the dark as he searches for an entry point. The faint sound of someone pleading reaches his ears from somewhere above him. When he's a few stories up, he shoots the grapple at the roof and scans for warm bodies through the construction beams, picking up his speed in the process. It’s abandoned and nearly every floor has an unfinished layout, something he can tell when he swings onto the floor where the screams sound the loudest. Searching for any sign of movement, he sees Ivy in his peripheral struggling with something.

Her plants are withering slowly away as she’s pinned to the floor. In a matter of seconds she goes limp from the harsh grip around her neck. The creature above her glows, seeming to drain her more as she puts up less resistance. It only takes a second for Batman to throw a batarang and disrupt the odd power. Ivy’s body slumps like a deadweight to the ground but he can’t focus on her just yet.

The creature is screeching in pain, turning its focus on him instead as it slowly redistributes the new energy it stole from Ivy. It grows spikes along its spine and even more of them start to form along its thighs and forearms, mimicking the thorns from Ivy’s beloved plants. When a vine suddenly comes within mere itches from his face, Batman knows it has somehow stolen her powers for sure. Ivy alone is bad enough, but he can only imagine what else this creature has syphoned before he arrived.

He can’t afford to misjudge just how _many_ other rogues have fallen to this beast. Of those missing from his list, Ivy worries him the most. The creature is sloppy with her plants but it still manages to summon them from the ground in predictable patterns that mimic Ivy’s fighting style. Batman can use it to his advantage because he _knows_ how she moves well enough to anticipate the monster’s next action. He tosses a capsule towards the creature after a batarang explodes another weak vine and the distraction works as it spreads a small weed killing paralytic across all the plants around the monster. The paralytic spreads through the vines into the creature, slowly creeping up along the rest of its body until it stops moving. At which point Batman waits a little longer just to make sure it’s rendered fully inert.

Unfortunately, the chemical doesn’t last long and the sound of bones cracking fills the air as an arm loses its shape. Tendrils wiggle back and forth with such force, Batman is forced to duck behind a column so he can strategize his next move, doing his best to keep his eyes pinned on his target. He watches with mild dismay as the creature’s arm reshapes itself, turning into a long, oddly shaped blade (Clayface’s abilities) that slams itself against the ground and sends ripples through the rest of its body, breaking free from the parasite before it takes a swings at him. Batman barely has a chance to dodge the slice as the long appendage cuts through concrete and rebar, catching his side a bit deeper than he’s expecting. He comes out of his roll with a hiss, hand gripping the wound tightly as he tries to head towards a harder to maneuver around section of the construction site. His fingers slip into his belt and within seconds he has a smoke bomb covering his escape, the sound of destroyed pillars filling the air as Parasite swings with abandon. He uses the cover of darkness and the temporary mindless rage to his advantage, leaning against a different beam so he can look at his side.

Bruce curses under his breath, fingers toying with his belt before he finds the cement capsule just in time as he hears the sound of crumbling rock. He ducks when a large mallet breaks the column he’s using as cover and the attack forces him to dash to a different hiding spot, tossing the capsule behind him which catches the arm-mallet. The cement takes to it quickly and locks the arm in place, forcing the creature to drag the heaviness of it around, while he finds a better hiding spot. His mind is racing with information and he tries to calculate how much more damage the building can take before it’s crashing down on them both as Parasite destroys everything in its path.

Everything Batman does is reactionary, about the only thing he hates when battling his foes, unable to make a proper plan that will give him the upperhand. It’s huge and dangerous, breaking anything in its way and somehow always finding him. Batman knows he’s in trouble. His blood pumps loudly in his ears as adrenaline rushes through his entire body and keeps him agile, alert to the danger. He has a gadget he wants to use but has to wait until it’s close, until it thinks it has him cornered to the point that he risks being head on with Parasite when it pounces towards him with a massive maw full of teeth. In seconds, Batman feels a familiar rush of air and suddenly Superman is hovering over him, punching back the monster with a single fist. The temporary relief gives him time to staunch his wounds, pressing tighter on them in an effort to make sure he isn’t simply hallucinating. Superman turns to look at him, a furrow in his brow where normally there’s relaxed eyebrows and a warm smile.

“Don’t—” Batman tries to warn him before Clark goes off the handle but it’s moot, the kryptonian clearly isn’t listening to reason any longer.

The crack of a super punch fills the echo chamber masquerading as a construction site and Superman continues to trade fists with the creature until it manages to catch Superman’s hands. Batman forces himself to his feet—his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to stop this fight before he loses Clark like the other victims.

A deafening boom separates Parasite from Superman and Clark falls heavily to the floor, looking out of breath and no longer flying.

Batman grits his teeth, watching as the monster grows in size, absorbing and mutating with each new source of energy—it truly is parasitic in nature. Noticing the lack of reformation in the cement-heavy mallet arm that he was able to stop early, Batman's mind starts working faster with each newly collected piece of evidence. If it can steal a meta-humans powers, it also has their weaknesses. He steps past his downed ally, free hand already unloading the lead covered capsule into his palm from his belt, when Superman grabs at his cape, tugging Batman back to try and act like a wall between him and the screeching monster.

He’s not fast enough to stop Clark from rushing in head-first and the scream his partner lets out is like a punch to Bruce’s gut. Parasite drains Clark, forcing him down to his knees as it continues to syphon off energy from him, but Clark won’t let go of it. Batman opens the lead casing in his palm, digging out the kryptonite with a desperate urgency as he starts running towards them. Watching Clark grow weaker with each second has Bruce flinging himself at Parasite without a second thought, shoving the glowing green rock into its shrieking mouth. He maneuvers around the creature’s neck and tries to force its mouth closed to ensure Parasite swallows the kryptonite whole. It wails in muffled agony, absorbing a bit of Bruce’s own energy before it seems to fully succumb to the foreign object inside of it. Parasite glows an unnatural shade of toxic green, shaking them both off as it flails around and smashes what it can before slumping to the floor. Its face crashes to the ground as it falls unconscious.

Propped up on his arms, Batman stares at Superman, noting how they’re both out of breath and panting while Bruce’s hands shake.

* * *

“I had him.” Bruce grits out, upset as he exits the batmobile, body still thrumming with adrenaline.

“You didn’t hear your heartbeat—” Superman chases after him, slower than usual now that he has to walk instead of float after him. The fight took a lot out of them both.

“You had no right to interfere! What if someone saw you?” Batman knows he’s being difficult, unreasonable, but it’s the only way he knows how to cope with the flurry of emotions swirling in his chest at the moment.

“ _Saw_ me? Saw **me**?!” His partner is outraged, grabbing him by the arm and forcing Batman to face him. There’s pain in Superman’s face he doesn’t want to see. “Bruce, I could have _lost_ you!"

“That’s the job Clark!” Bruce returns, feeling his irritation grow as he snaps with unrestrained rage. “We risk our lives every day when we go out. You shouldn’t have come, you were nearly killed! It’s one thing to lose Batman, no one would even bat an eyelash at that, but Superman? You’re all the world has!”

“Don't say that! Don't say no one would even blink if you died Bruce, you know that’s not true!” Clark begs, anger coloring his voice as he grips his partner’s arms to shake some sense into him.

Bruce in turn gives just as much anger as he’s given, feeling the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Why the fuck do you care so much? Why are you _always_ trying to protect me?!"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

All the shouting between them makes Bruce feel deaf after the confession. He’s too stunned to react, shocked that things have escalated so quickly. Clark is right there, in his space, and the pain of his grip is not as much as Bruce imagined. Likely a side effect from Parasite, but Clark looks ready to crumble in his arms if Bruce makes a sound or even _moves_. It’s painful acknowledging that he feels the same, that he had been filled with so much _fear_ at the mere thought of losing Clark to that... _thing_. After another long minute, he closes the distance between them, breath hitching as he tugs Clark’s face down into a soft, comforting kiss.

Gone is all of Batman’s hard edges, leaving nothing behind but Bruce and Clark and the raw emotions between them. He finds it interesting how easy it is for him to press Clark into the desk of the Batcomputer, directing them against something solid before either of their limbs give out. He tears his cowl off, pulling away to look into his partner’s eyes for confirmation. A sign to tell him to stop, or anything from Clark that says he doesn’t want this, but nothing surfaces.

Rather, Clark helps him strip off the costume, planting kisses with each new patch of skin he exposes to the chill air of the damp cave. Bruce does the same for Clark, a part of this moving way too fast but also painfully too slow for him. Right before his belt is nearly discarded, he takes out a capsule of lube and loves the sound of Clark’s laugh as he notices what’s in Bruce’s hands.

“Always prepared.” He intones, leaning forward to kiss Clark and make it deeper this time, stealing what little air he has as they get lost in each other. He sets the capsule to the side, gloves discarded as he uses his hands to tease Clark’s cock. It practically springs in his grip, letting Bruce feel all the warm and long edges of it as it grows harder, filling out heavily in his hands. He’s _big_ and the way Clark moans against him, whole body shuddering as he surrenders to the pleasure, spreads a deep satisfaction through Bruce’s bones. He could stroke Clark for hours, maybe even wrap his lips around him and get a real taste, but Bruce has other plans for the kryptonian tonight.

He licks into Clark’s mouth, wrenching a long moan from him while Bruce pushes his free hand into the hem of his own pants, digging down until he exposes his erection to the air. It’s just free enough to feel some semblance of relief as he strokes Clark’s until it’s flush and leaking. Clark’s kisses are hunger and his grip on Bruce’s arms, which normally would have bruised him at full strength, are just rough enough to keep Bruce from pulling away. He’d like to do this again when Clark is back to full strength, chuckling at himself for already planning a "next time".

Bruce pulls slowly away from the kiss and further from the heavy pulse of Clark’s cock to instead focus on coating his fingers with lube—stroking his own cock in the process as Clark watches with rapt attention. Soon the younger hero takes over, shocking a grunt out of him as Clark’s fingers squeeze around the head of his erection and move at a quicker pace. His muscles flex as he resists the urge to thrust into the large hand, ignoring Clark’s smile pressed into his forehead while he takes a second to breathe.

“Won’t..last..” He warns as Clark continues to stroke, teasing the tip of his dick with a press of his thumb. It’s near painful how much his desire mounts, leaving him desperate to hold off so he can savior it more. Adrenaline is still pumping through his veins from earlier when Clark eventually releases him, reducing him to a gasping mess. Clark kisses at the side of his face and Bruce leans into it, dragging Clark back into an intensely passionate tangle when he finds the strength to keep going.

He busies his hands, sliding lubricant slick fingers along the inside of Clark’s thighs before pressing them purposefully against the rim of his hole. Clark groans into his mouth at this, taking a finger without issue until Bruce adds a second one to scissor him open with. All Bruce can hear is Clark’s breathy moans, the way he cries out and kisses his lips to muffle them with each passing thrust. Bruce barely gets three inside when his lover starts rushing him for more.

“Bruce! Enough already..I won’t break.” Clark growls, gaze heavy with desire as Bruce presses his fingers in deeper to elicit another sweet moan from Clark before pulling his fingers free.

“Clark..” Bruce starts, then cuts himself off because he doesn’t know what he wants to say. There’s too much—too many sensations, too many thoughts in his head and just an overload of _everything_. Bruce wants—he needs it to stop. Positioning his cock at Clark’s entrance, his focus pinpoints on only the sensation of blissfully filling his body as he thrusts in. They’re breathing each other’s air, and Bruce is inside of Clark and it’s like the missing piece to a puzzle. His hands grip tightly onto thick thighs, wanting to hold Clark close and continue to bring him closer until Bruce can’t tell where he ends and Clark begins.

Clark’s hands dig into Bruce’s hair, threading into the short black strands as he holds on, moaning so loud it echoes throughout the whole cave and drowns out the distinct slap of Bruce’s thrusts. His rhythm is just right, just what they both need, and he doesn’t stop. He just drives his cock in deep and pulls out to do it over and over again. Bruce bites down on Clark’s collarbone to stifle his own heavy grunts, coming apart with a particularly harsh thrust and balls buried deep inside of his lover. Clark follows soon after, his cock spurting excessively between them, coating Bruce’s and his own chest with the mess. Neither of them seem to care or notice however, still wrapped up so fully in each other. Bruce breathes heavily against Clark’s skin as he takes a few moments to come back to reality. When he shifts, he remembers the pain in his side from the fight earlier and causes him to laugh out of spite, touching the wound faintly with his fingers before he pats at Clark’s thighs to let him go.

“We should shower, and then probably bring this to the bedroom. How are you feeling?” Bruce looks him over, knowing that even if Alfred is discreet, this particular clean up job will get some judgemental stares from his butler for _at least_ a week.

“Is that a serious question?” Clark asks and Bruce laughs again, shaking his head and leaning in for another slow kiss.

Hours later, with patched up wounds and tired bodies, they finally make it to Bruce’s bedroom. He tucks an exhausted Clark in, who after everything, seemed to have been running on the same adrenaline burst as Bruce. Bruce slides into bed next to him, leaning over Clark and staring at him as he rests.

“..Clark.” He whispers into the silence of the room.

Clark doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, just yawns and asks, “Yea?”

“...” There’s so much still left unsaid, so many things Bruce wants to elaborate on—to discuss. He can’t bring himself to voice any of them however, not even the most important one that he wants to say right now. In the end, it seems that the vocalization of his thoughts and feelings aren't necessary when Clark is curling into Bruce’s side, dragging him down into the sheets and getting comfortable in his embrace.

“I know.”


End file.
